


Princess of Chon'sin

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Also Swords, Family Fluff, Gen, Mother/Daughter shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan and her mother share a bit of bonding time</p>
<p>Or, a more personalized A-support between Morgan and Say'ri-- not written like a support.</p>
<p>(Minor spoilers for 'Everyone Starts in Southtown' I guess-- but this isn't really the same canon, I just use the same MU name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princess of Chon'sin

Say’ri did not know what she was doing.   
  
And for what she was doing, that was a surprise. She was Chon’sin royalty even if Chon’sin was in tatters at this pojnt, damn near peerless with a blade, had been the leader of the force against Walhart, one of the Shepherds’ top fighters, married to one of the _tacticians,_ for crying out loud, and she did not know what she was doing.  
  
It was a deceptively simple task— spend some time with the little girl that’d come back from the future and called herself Say’ri’s child. Say’ri could think of no better way to spend that time than a bit of practice, since, to her knowledge, she had been a mother for about four weeks. In most cases, being a mother for four weeks did not lend itself to even doing much talking with one’s child, let alone fighting alongside them in battle, or practicing sparring.  
  
But she had to spend time with Morgan somehow. Children got lonely, after all, and Say’ri would feel awful if she left Morgan to her own devices just because she didn’t know how to interact with her daughter-come-back-from-the-future. So sparring it was, then, and Say’ri hoped it would return decent results.  
  
When she arrived in the training area, training swords under her arm, Morgan was already there. She was sitting on one of the training dummies with a box in her lap, swinging her legs idly and looking at her fingernails.  
  
“Morgan?” Say’ri called. “Pray, what are you doing up there?”  
  
Morgan perked up immediately, turning to Say’ri and grinning hugely. “Mother! I was just waiting for you here, like you said! We’re going to practice sparring, right? Oh, and I brought sandwiches for after we’re done!” She held up the box to prove it.  
  
“Of course, I keep my word,” Say’ri nodded. “Though you ought to come down from there, lest you hurt yourself before our sparring begins.”  
  
“I won’t get hurt,” Morgan said confidently, hopping down from the dummy in one swift movement and landing lithely on the ground, her bare feet creating a small puff of dust. Say’ri almost winced seeing exactly what could have gone wrong there in all the possible ways. “See, I can hold my own! Father taught me that when jumping off high objects, you should keep your weight on the balls of your feet, because they’re made to take force at all different angles including vertical ones, instead of your heels, because they’re not made for vertical angles and it could damage your leg bones. It’s physics!”  
  
The explanation made Say’ri’s head spin. “Pietra taught you that, did he? What a… useful tactic.”  
  
“Mm-hmm! Father has all kinds of useful strategies and skills. Like making fishooks!” She was positively gushing at this point— Pietra must have spent long hours with her in her future. It made Say’ri wonder where she was in this strange future. Certainly not neglecting her family, she hoped.  
  
“And he has taught you some things regarding swordsmanship, correct?” Say’ri asked. “Seeing you battle, I can tell you have learned from us both, but favor your father’s, er… style.” Pietra’s style of swordsmanship involved lots of reliance on physical strength and terrain advantages, which was one way to do it, and understandable for someone who had only had little bits of training, but Say’ri herself preferred a style with more reliance on skill and speed. And since Morgan seemed to favor her build rather than Pietra’s, it seemed only natural to teach Morgan how to use that effectively.  
  
“I think I did learn some stuff from you in the past, yeah!” Morgan remarked. “My past, at least. But now I get to learn more, and we get to make new memories together, mother! Maybe it’ll help make new ones surface!”  
  
“A possibility indeed,” Say’ri agreed, tossing her daughter one of the practice swords. “Now we should get started. Idle movement does not a swordsmaster make.”  
  
Morgan nodded eagerly, setting aside the box of sandwiches and taking the practice sword. There was a white band tied around her upper arm like a ribbon, the band stained dark brown in spots with what could only be old blood. It was eerily similar to the band around Say’ri’s forehead at that moment, but she put that thought out of her head.   
  
Say’ri took the base fighting stance, waiting for Morgan to mirror it. She was dressed simply, for training, with a leather breastplate over her tunic and guards over her arms and shins. Wooden swords hurt, after all. Say’ri was relieved to see Morgan had donned the same level of protection— though whether or not that was maternal instinct showing itself was a mystery. Common sense, she’d think. She wouldn’t spar with anyone, even if she didn’t know them very well, if they didn’t have the foresight to protect themselves. That kind of lapse in thinking could get someone hurt.  
  
“Even if this is for practice, watch closely,” Say’ri instructed. “Keep your wits about you, and keep your eyes open for my movements. No distractions.”  
  
“No distractions!” Morgan repeated enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Say’ri had to crack a smile— she’d gotten Pietra’s zeal for improvement, it seemed. She had to admit that was rather adorable.  
  
The fight began. Say’ri stuck to beginning forms at first, and while Morgan picked up on those, she slowly increased the complexity and speed of her strikes. Morgan improvised to counter that— she ducked, she rolled, and at one point she even flipped her blade backhanded and braced it on her opposite forearm to counter a two-handed blow. A fool’s move with a real sword, but it showed resourcefulness.  
  
“Clever,” Say’ri had to admit after that move. “Did Pietra teach you that?”  
  
“No,” Morgan replied breathlessly. “I can’t remember where I learned it, but it confused Lucina too when I pulled it on her during training.”  
  
“Fie, if I could, I would teach you how to dual-wield,” Say’ri added as she very nearly struck Morgan direct to the ribs, but pulled her blow at the last second. “How to use that other arm for something other than added power or defense with a shield.”  
  
“Why can’t you?” Morgan had to ask, parrying a sideways thrust and whirling backwards to try and catch Say’ri in the chest. “That sounds like a cool thing to learn! And plus, we haven’t seen any Risen that dual-weild yet, so it’ll catch them off guard.”  
  
“A long story,” Say’ri dismissed the question, not quite willing to talk about that yet. “Remember to guard all sides— a blow could come from anywhere.”  
  
“Guard all sides,” Morgan repeated, breathing heavily. “Got it!”  
  
Truth be told, Morgan took to Chon’sin form like a fish to water. By the end of the sparring session, even Say’ri, who boasted a very high endurance, was winded, and had to call the practice duel a draw. She welcomed the break that came next, sitting with her back to the wall of the Shepherds’ garrisson, sharing the sandwiches Morgan had brought.  
  
“Your fighting is so beautiful, mother,” Morgan commented. “Like a really deadly dance.”  
  
“I hardly think it as such,” Say’ri said humbly. “But I suppose it does look pretty. I learned it as a princess, after all. And at least in Chon’sin, that is how royal women learn to fight. It is only fitting that you take to it, and as well that you put your own unique spin upon it. Quite literally, I might add.”  
  
Morgan chuckled modestly. “I don’t think I could ever get it as well as you do, though. I only started learning recently! Unless I learned some before I came to the past, which would… kind of explain that a lot, actually. I know I must’ve learned some things from you. I can’t only take after you in looks!”  
  
That was true. Morgan took after Say’ri in looks quite a lot— not just in her complexion and her hair, but her build and her face. Even a few of her speech patterns, too. With her eyes matching Pietra’s exactly, she was a perfect mix of her parents. It was actually kind of astounding.   
  
“Aye, it seems you take after me in other mannerisms as well,” Say’ri agreed. Though her eyes kept wandering to the cloth around Morgan’s arm. Upon closer inspection, the edges were tattered and singed, and in some places it was smeared with ash and speckled with miniscule burn holes. And yet, something about it felt oddly familiar to Say’ri.  
  
“May I see that?” she asked suddenly, gently touching it.  
  
“What, this?” Morgan asked, untying it and inspecting it. It looked like it’d been through a war, as well as been tied around Morgan’s arm for quite a while. “It’s kind of dirty, I know, but something about it just feels so… familiar. I can’t bear to let anyone wash it, in case it may lose that feeling. I keep thinking that if I hang onto it, maybe I’ll get some memories back!”  
  
“Have you?” Say’ri asked, taking the cloth gently and turning it over in her hands.   
  
“No…” Morgan sighed. “Father hasn’t seen it either— it’s been under my coat the whole time. It’s just… it’s strange.”  
  
On a hunch, Say’ri untied the headband around her forehead and held it up for comparison. Aside from the burn marks and bloodstains Morgan’s had, they were completely identical. With the thought that she and Pietra might have died or been killed in battle even in Morgan’s seemingly happier future, it was too big a similarity to be mere coincidence.  
  
“How odd,” Say’ri whispered to herself. “Morgan, did you consider that it may be mine?”  
  
Morgan’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think so… I mean, your headband is similar, yeah, but I didn’t think it was _that_ similar to mine! I found it tied around my sword hilt, when I first got to this world… But what does that mean? It hasn’t brought back any memories!”  
  
“Neither did banging your head against a post,” Say’ri chided. “I think that patience will be what brings back your memories.”  
  
“Fie, that was the only lead I had,” Morgan huffed, folding her arms. Say’ri had to register just how much that reminded her of herself when she was much younger. Impatient, hot-headed, always rushing to learn new things. Trying to make herself into something Yen’fay would be proud of without knowing he already was.  
  
“There is hope of recovering your memories yet,” Say’ri assured the girl, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “Do not despair, Morgan.”  
  
“But what if they don’t come back?” Morgan said, her features uncharacteristically etched with worry and not looking at Say’ri. “What if I have to live the rest of my life as an amnesiac? And what happens to me once the real me is born?”  
  
Those were difficult quesions Say’ri didn’t know how to answer. So instead she pulled the girl into a hug, setting her hand on the back of Morgan’s head gently. “Shh, do not worry over such things. You are my daughter, let there be no doubts, and that will not change once you are born in this timeline.”  
  
“I just—“ Morgan’s voice broke, prompting Say’ri to hold her a bit tighter. “I don’t want my entire life up to this point to have been for nothing. I must’ve been the luckiest little girl in the world to have a family like you and father, and I don’t have any memories of that family, not even of how happy I was. I can only guess, and guess at where I came from, what I learned from you, and… and it isn’t fair!”  
  
Say’ri didn’t know what to say. She felt Morgan trembling with barely-repressed tears in her arms and wished she somehow had Pietra’s tactical skill— wait, no, Pietra would be even more useless in this situation. More than likely he’d start crying, too. Though that might make Morgan feel better, admittedly.   
  
“It is not fair,” Say’ri mumbled. “But you would not be here if you were not meant to be. You may not even eventually exist if you were not here now— I would never think of myself as having a child, not during this war, and you remind me that it will happen. Without that I could easily lose hope in… in having a family again.”  
  
Morgan sniffled, her arms squeezing Say’ri reassuringly. “You’ll be the best family to little me,” she decided. “I’ll be as happy here as I know I was in my past, and… and I’ll do my best to make that happen, too.”  
  
“You can be a part of our family of both then and now,” Say’ri agreed, kissing Morgan’s forehead gently. “Does that help?”  
  
Morgan nodded, pulling away and rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah, I think so… thank you, mother.”  
  
“Anytime,” Say’ri promised with a smile. “Now, shall we get cleaned up, or do you want to spar some more?”  
  
A grin spread across Morgan’s face. “I think I can win this time,” she decided. “You’re on, mother! I know your tricks this time!”  
  
Say’ri chuckled, standing up and tossing Morgan’s practice sword to her. “Then may the best win.”

**Author's Note:**

> wake me up (wake me up inside)


End file.
